THE GUMSHOE – BIZCATALYST 360°: Recent Episodes
BIZCATALYST 360
Yes, the real-life Ken Osmond was none other than the fictional ingratiating character of Eddie Haskell on “Leave it to Beaver”. Eddie was a “suck up” to Mr. & Mrs. Ward & June Cleaver and a bully to their young son Theodore “Beaver” Cleaver and a friend of Beaver’s older brother Wally.
This family rated TV show ran from 1957 to 1963. Quite a few of us “Baby Boomers” watch the adventures of the “Beev” and Gumshoe can still whistle the theme song.
Okay, now all of you kind readers may leave you a wondering how this look back at “Leave it to Beaver” relates to Gumshoe’s tale beyond the old black and white TV screen.
Back in the first part of the 80’s, Gumshoe and his fellow City of Orange Police Officer “TJ” Jordan volunteered to become a swing shift DUI (Driving Under the Influence) Team. Accordingly, we received a week’s worth of daytime classroom instruction as well as practical nighttime field training sponsored by LAPD.
Tommy and Gumshoe would learn the in’s and outs of lateral nystagmus along with specific series of FST’s (field sobriety tests) in order to become certified court experts in DUI investigations and enforcement protocols. Our training was held at Parker Center, LAPD Headquarters, Central Division. Known by LAPD Officers as “Fort Fumble” as well as “The Puzzle Palace”. Go figure?
Tommy and Gumshoe were the only non-LAPD officers assigned to the class. The LAPD Officers were from the traffic division and they were all motorcycle officers known in police parlance as “motor officers”. The game plan after the daytime classroom instruction called for a short Code 7 (meal break) and then we all hit the streets.
Two of the motor officers would become the drivers of two individual “B-wagons” and Tommy & I would each be assigned as their respective partners.
Note: The term “B-wagon” comes from cop jargon for a transportation van that would customarily pick up prostitutes (during vice sweeps) who had been arrested under the California Penal Code, 647(B) violations for prostitution. Hence the term “B” for the wagon designation.
The motor officers would make the traffic stops of suspected DUI’s and the “B-wagons” would be summoned to pick up the arrested quarry. Once the “B-wagon” was filled to capacity, it would proceed to Central Booking for further DUI suspect processing (Breath-o-lizer) and then subsequent DUI jail bookings.
Rearing to try out “follow-my-finger- nystagmus test-Gumshoe” was paired-up inside the “B-wagon” with LAPD Officer Ken Osmond who played Eddie Haskell on “Leave it to Beaver”. Happenstance for sure! He looked exactly the way Gumshoe remembered him from the television series but just slightly an older version.
As we cruised portions of Boyle Heights we had several hours to chat. He told me that he still received residuals from the series that barely covered the cost of his Code-7 meal breaks.
Eddie, errr Ken told me that he garnered quite a bit of good natured ribbing starting from his LAPD Academy days and even to the present by occasionally being recognized by the Baby Boomers as Eddie Haskell. He took it all in stride with a hint of professional pride.
Since he was always “type-cast” as Eddie it put a definite kibosh on his TV career. It was okay with him since he loved being a cop in a career that paid him personal dividends.
Gumshoe came to know Officer Osmond as an unpretentious and down to earth guy in spite of his past claim to fame. He was good enough to echo Eddie Haskell’s memorable and ingratiating line to Mrs. June Cleaver for Gumshoe:
“It’s a pretty dress you’re wearing Mrs. Cleaver”.
Eddie then gave Gumshoe a slight smile and a wink as we proceeded to Central Booking. Gumshoe laughed all the way! Our inebriated passengers didn’t get the humor. Lo siento mucho!
Well there you have it folks. A fictionalized “kiss ass bully” who was just the opposite in real life as a hard-charging and a truly dedicated LAPD Officer. God bless the late Ken Osmond!
In closing gentle readers, always remember to love the ones who love you, and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Now let’s all whistle or hum that “Leave it to Beaver” theme melody . . .
ABC Television, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
RETIRED (as a Detective with the Snohomish County Sherriff’s Department, Washington State), I have over forty years of law enforcement experience across city, county, state, and federal levels of government, including service as a Special Agent for the DEA, US Department of Justice. I’m a decorated law enforcement veteran, and recipient of the “Detective of the Year” award for Snohomish County. I’m also a certified composite artist and have testified as an expert witness in the field of narcotics and modus operandi of particular crimes in state and federal courts in California, and have given testimony before federal grand juries. These are my stories from the streets and beyond. Enjoy, comment, share, and download them all.
Ahem! Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?
This routine court swearing-in was directed at DEA Special Agent Danny Pitocco as I looked at the judge and glanced at the jury as I responded in a solemn and strong affirmative voice, “I do!” I then slowly dropped my right arm and I sat down on the witness chair adjacent to the judge and court clerk. I adjusted the microphone in front of me like a professional entertainer.
I was testifying in an asset seizure case involving several gold bars.
The DEA investigation established that these gold bars were the ill-gotten gains from an Israeli organized crime group that dealt in the distribution of large quantities of Rohypnol among the assortment of other illicit substances.
Rohypnol is a potent sedative commonly known as “the date rape drug” where the victim unknowingly is slipped the drug in a drink and wakes up naked the next day with a foggy or no memory of being sexually assaulted by one or more suspects. Disgusting indeed when evil knows no bounds.
I will not go into further details of the case nor discuss the investigative resources that resulted in this seizure folks because it could potentially compromise clandestine investigative techniques and procedures still used today. Nuff said about secret squirrel stuff.
I always looked forward to being cross-examined by the defense council simply because it gave me a chance to educate the jury. I also enjoy having a captive audience for some strange reason.
Note: Through my training and expert testimony experience, I learned to always look individually at each juror. I also learned to respond in a professional and polite manner with a collective calm voice and demeanor no matter how much the defense attorney would attempt (in vain) to provoke me into an emotional or angry outburst response. I also knew that the defense attorney would ultimately open a door in his questioning that would seal the deal with the jurors with my testimony.
The truth will always set you free with a wee bit of humor for spice folks.
The very confident and somewhat arrogant and definitely boorish defense attorney pontificated in a Shakespearian dramatic voice this question to me:
“Isn’t it true Special Agent Pitocco that your moniker as a previously employed police officer was Mad Dog?”
I took a pregnant pause to see if the prosecutor would raise an objection to this question on the grounds of relevance to this case. No such objection was raised and I now knew that I had my chance to spring the figurative verbal trap door on this boorish barrister. Gotcha Perry Mason Moron!
I looked at the jurors with a slight smile and I replied:
“Yes sir, it was an honor being known by my fellow police officers as Mad Dog!”
The defense attorney seemed momentarily confused and simultaneously flummoxed as he glared at me in shock and amazement at my somewhat cavalier response.
He uttered, “An honor special agent Pitocco?”
I gamely replied, “Yes sir but I have to explain”.
“Object your honor!” the defense attorney shouted out as the jurors physically shook back in their chairs.
“Overruled” replied the scholarly judge who stated: “You opened the door counselor and the witness can explain”.
Internally my heart literally jumped for joy. I then used a conversational tone of voice as I addressed the jurors who appeared to lean closer to me in their respective hard wooden and not cushioned seats. I slowly began in a pedagogical voice:
“In the police culture, it is definitely a rite of passage for a rookie police officer who is no longer under the auspices of a Field Training Officer” (FTO) to be accepted by the veteran police officers who work their respective beats on the street. A “coming of age” as it were.
The rookie knows that he or she is accepted once the veteran’s christened him or her with a moniker or nickname. (Alleluia!)
In my case “Mad dog” was my label after I was observed by the veteran officers and by the field supervisors by my field performance on hot calls. Calls that involved shots fired, Officer, needing immediate assistance, unknown trouble, officer down, physical fights, vehicle pursuits, felonies in progress. Red lights and sirens all.
“Mad Dog” illustrated my aggressiveness and my dedication to assisting my fellow and sister officers as well as arresting suspects and protecting innocent victims.”
Some of the jurors smiled and one actually gave me a quick wink and a nod. The defense attorney with a blank stare and in a humble voice announced to the court:
“No further questions”.
The later verdict denied the return of the gold bars to the suspects who later entered pleas of “Nolo contendere” (Latin for no contest) on the drug charges. The US Treasury kept the gold bars.
Note: Too bad I did not work on commission as a special agent for the DEA.
Well, folks, my law enforcement career continued after I left the DEA and I later received the monikers “The Professor” and finally “Gumshoe” from two other police agencies that I worked for prior to my retirement.
In closing, always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: I sometimes wonder if that defense attorney who worked for that drug cartel ever got paid. Possibly 30 pieces of silver would have been symbolic and appropriate in Gumshoe’s opinion.
The above acronym “FOD” was a routine active visual runaway check for “foreign object debris”. This was an important duty for us Marine Corps Air Wing Jarheads. We would line up abreast and slowly walk down the runway in unison to visibly check for debris.
This task ensured that the million-dollar-plus Marine aircraft would not have their jet engines vacuum up said debris upon takeoffs or landings that would end well for the pilot nor for the passengers. FOD could ultimately result in catastrophic engine failure, damage, injury, and sometimes death.
Now you gentle readers may ask, “Why is Gumshoe writing about FOD?” Or perhaps some of you folks with inquiring minds may think. “What does a FOD check have anything to do with me?”
Gumshoe can confidently answer, “Nothing at all!”
Well then again folks thinking on a deeper level metaphorically speaking, “Everything!”
Look at all of the foreign objects that have been and are still present in our country that imperil our national survival.
Just to name a few off the top of Gumshoe’s noggin:
Open Borders – unimpeded and illegal migration (invasion) without properly vetting those who wish us harm.
Does anyone remember their ancient history about the Trojan Horse and how well that worked out? That was definitely a gift that kept on giving. NOT!
Crime – Restorative justice is a myth developed by unicorn-thinking lame brains. The criminal miscreants are NOT the victims! Society did not make them do their dastardly deeds.
Gumshoe once heard that a conservative was once a liberal who got mugged.
Don’t get Gumshoe started on the “Defund the Police” and the “No Bail“ nincompoops.
The Green New Deal religious zealots make the Luddites seem like a bunch of modern-day Einsteins. E=MC squashed. Let’s cut off our sources of energy that run our economy and go back to troglodyte cave habitation. Knuckleheads all! Greta Thunberg is a useful Swedish idiot whose brain is smaller than her country’s meatballs.
Erase history via the 1619 project. Indoctrinate students to hate our country. Don’t forget to cancel student loans since loan documents are worthless along with the “do nothing degrees”.
Well dear readers that’s the FOD check that presently engulfs us Americans.
Gumshoe thinks that we must now all figuratively line up abreast and slowly remove the FOD for our nation to once again safely take off!
Remember to always love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Former Marine Gumshoe also was assigned “Wheels Watch Duty” and that’s an entirely different story.
One of Gumshoe’s boyhood heroes was Wyatt Earp. Not the TV Wyatt Earp mind you, but the gunfighting marshal who survived and thrived after hanging up his firearm and pulling the pin (cop talk for removing the badge).
Wyatt was asked about gun fighting and this is one of his quotes that Gumshoe took to heart as a police officer:
“Fast is fine, but accuracy is final. In a gunfight you have to take your time in a hurry”.
The U.S. Navy SEALs have modified Wyatt’s quote by stating:
“Slow is smooth and smooth is fast”.
Some of you kind readers might think that Wyatt and the SEALs are in conflict with these adages, but they are not. They are definitely in complete harmony with one another.
In real life police work street combat, unexpected gunfights (ambush) will happen in a heartbeat and within a blink of an eye. In actual combat warfare, similar circumstances to a much larger degree occur on the battlefield.
Hard and life-threatening tests can come before the lessons are learned by the new street police officer or by the green combat recruit.
What is the solution to this dilemma?
Developing an instinctive muscle memory through repetitive training to react is critical. Violent situations are fluid and never static don’t cha know? You can only rise to the level in which you have been trained. If you take your time to think, you’re already too late my friends.
Gumshoe learned from his years practicing martial arts that developing a “collective calm” can make a difference when the **** hits the fan. The immediate focus will be automatic without panic or confusion. Controlling yourself in chaos is a survival mechanism.
Chinese Military General, strategist, and philosopher Sun Tzu in his book “The Art of War” stated that “every battle is won before it is ever fought”. Inscrutably correct! Gung Ho! Good old General Tzu was indeed simpatico with Marshal Earp, the U.S. Navy SEALs, and Gumshoe.
Well, that’s Gumshoe’s thoughts for now. Always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
Featured image Wyatt Earp (1869) courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
An informal and definitely an unauthorized “dead pool” was held by us Santa Ana Police Officers prior to our roll call briefings for the night watch (commonly referred to as the graveyard shift) before any of the major holidays — Cinco de Mayo, 4th of July, Dia de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), Christmas as well as New Years.
It was not as if the gang bangers needed an excuse to fire their weaponry but the regular citizenry also joined in the alcohol-fueled gunfire volleys throughout the city. Ay caramba!
This morbid “death pool” would ascertain which officer would handle the first homicide during their assigned shift to kick off the savage assaults. A few pesos would change hands the following day.
The calculated odds advantage of winning this “death pool” was for the officers assigned to the beats that were situated in the heart of the claimed gang turfs within the various barrios of the “Golden City” (motto) of Santa Ana, California.
Note: There were during Gumshoe’s tenure as a blue-suited patrol officer, at least 18 established and known “misguided youth groups“ known as gangs that were generational and violently territorial.
Gumshoe supposed that the Boy Scouts as well as the Camp Fire Girls recruiting efforts among the “cholos” and “cholas” were an abject failure in these troubled lands that time forgot. Troglodytes are us! Pass the tortillas and bullets.
On this particular occasion, it was New Year‘s Eve and Gumshoe was working the south central beat that encapsulated several of the highly disputed gang turfs. This was apparent to any of the veteran SAPD street officers just by seeing the crossed-out gang graffiti by another opposing gang. This inherently meant that the gauntlet was thrown down by one gang to another gang to challenge their hegemony over the area. No UN envoys were ever contacted since this was real gunboat (gun car) diplomacy at its finest.
Blood would freely flow on the streets of “The Golden City” just as sure as the evening sun would set and the stone-faced coroner’s deputy would tag the bodies by the morning sunrise. The death business was good.
There was always a hot war on between the rival gangs with paybacks over paybacks ad infinitum. Multiple drive-by “shootin’-ups “ were the norm. Lo seinto mucho!
These “no man lands” were prominently delineated by a distinct gang-symbolized graffiti (branding as it were) that was heavily plastered on walls, houses, traffic signs, street and sidewalk surfaces, etc. If it didn’t move, it was labeled by the advertising arm of the gang.
Now that you kind readers have a Gang 101 basic introduction, Gumshoe will describe how he won the “Dead Pool”. Pesos a plenty!
The bewitching hour was just seconds after midnight that heralded the new year. The fusillade of gunfire erupted throughout the city as Gumshoe sheltered in place his black & white hack beneath a freeway underpass for safety’s sake due to the bombardment.
You must understand dear readers that bullets go up and come down at the same velocity without respect to the target.
Sure enough, our police radios were also bombarded by an overwhelming wave of frantic 911 calls reporting mass mayhem. All of the SAPD night shift officers were immediately dispatched and there were no backup officers available for our one-officer police units. That “thin blue line” was stretched beyond the limit that night.
“God definitely is my co-pilot” echoed Gumshoe’s silent prayer-mantra as the 911 dispatcher sent Gumshoe to an unknown trouble call to a nondescript brown stucco single-story circa 1950 barrio residence located at the end of a cul-de-sac.
Lights & sirens placed Gumshoe quickly onto the harried scene. Gumshoe thought of one of the many acronyms of USMC,(unmitigated sh** and mass confusion). This was the reality up close and personal.
There was a black, 4-door, 70’s Chevy awkwardly positioned on the grass lawn in the front yard. The car’s lights were on and the left side driver’s door and the left side passenger’s door were standing open. The car’s interior roof light was flashing off and on like a bizarre beacon. Maybe an electrical short? The car’s engine was running and there was a heavy odor of burnt rubber coupled with the smell of spent gunpowder that wafted in the humid night air. There were visible bullet holes that peppered the trunk and the rear window was blasted in.
Gumshoe noticed a still body inside the right front passenger seat. This victim was slumped slightly forward. About half of the back of his or her head was missing but remnants were splattered on the dashboard and the front windshield. The car’s radio was tuned to a heavy metal channel that seemed to be the theme song for this hellish scene.
Directly in front of the abandoned Chevy Gumshoe saw the sprawled body akimbo facing the open front door of the residence. This victim had several apparent bullet holes in the back of his once-white crew neck tee shirt that had turned crimson.
Gumshoe heard loud shrieks beyond the open front door. With Gumshoe’s .45 caliber semiautomatic pistol drawn and flashlight at the ready Gumshoe tactically entered the residence towards the screams.
The front door had been kicked in by evidence of a shoe print adjacent to the doorknob. The jamb was shattered and splintered. Gumshoe saw another victim lying with his body bent over the living room couch. This victim had several bullet holes along his back similar to his front lawn dead companion. His right shoe was missing.
The household residents who were in between the stages of shock and fear told Gumshoe that as they were watching the televised “Ball Drop” at Times Square, they heard multiple gunshots, the screech of tires, and suddenly the crash of their front door being kicked-in by their uninvited deceased guest.
The father grabbed his wife and two kids and they immediately retreated to the back bedroom where he called 911. They missed the ball being dropped.
Follow-up investigation of the triple homicide was later revealed through CI’s (confidential informants) account narrative.
The three males, Caucasians in their late teens had purchased a few baggies of marijuana (mota) from one of the gang-banger street drug dealers earlier during the daylight within the vicinity of the residence. These three “weto’s” decided to return to the area to purchase some more of the devil weed but somehow drove into the wrong neighborhood as they slowly drove by a party house of cholo’s of a rival barrio gang. BIG and FATAL mistake!
These cholo’s took issue with these possible rival gang “drive-byers” and they promptly jumped into their gang bang mobiles and pursued these hapless and clueless victims. Guns were a-blazing and Mister Toad’s Wild Ride commenced through the barrio streets.
When these victims unfortunately found themselves trapped at the end of the cul-de-sac they abandoned their car and attempted to find shelter from the murderous horde.
The right front passenger caught a slug during the pursuit. The pursuing cholo’s were instantly on them like “white on rice” and summarily executed the fleeing driver and his left rear passenger with extreme prejudice and without remorse.
The adrenaline-fueled driver did kick in the front door of the residence but he did not realize that he was already dead. His missing shoe came off as he crashed through the front door.
Gumshoe won the dead pool by the way and it was acknowledged during the following night watch briefing as his handling the most homicides in the shortest period of the new year. The awarded pasos were put back into the next dead pool by the way. Gumshoe thought it would be unseemly to collect on the “blood money”.
Gumshoe believes that that infamous record still stands to this day.
Epilogue: It was almost ten years later when Gumshoe was already relocated to Washington State and was employed as a Deputy Sheriff in the small mining town of Gold Bar (Westside of the Cascades) when he received a court subpoena to appear in the murder trial of these want-to-be marijuana buyers.
In the barrio, there is a common saying that sadly rings true: “La vida es barata” which translates to “Life is cheap”.
Until next time kind readers, always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Gumshoe never had to testify in the homicide trial. The Orange County DA declined to pay for Gumshoe’s airfare and lodging expenses. Gumshoe surmises that “Justice is cheap”.
“Dirty Harry” previewed nationwide in theaters back in 1971. Clint Eastwood portrayed a San Francisco Police Inspector, Harry Callahan, who was plagued with losing partners on the job. Harry also brandished a .44 Magnum revolver that settled gunfights in a short and violent order. He also was a thorn in the side of his politically (which way was the wind blowing) astute supervisors. Commonly termed by veteran police officers as “Stupidvisors”.
“Dirty Harry’s” film success was followed up with a series of Inspector Callahan’s police adventures in “Magnum Force”, “The Enforcer”, “Sudden Impact” and the “Dead Pool. Inspector Callahan had a way with words:
“Make my day!”
“A good man should always know his limitations”.
“You’re a legend in your own mind”.
This Gumshoe’s most favorite:
“I know what you’re thinking, did he fire only five shots or six? Well to tell you the truth, in all of this excitement, I kinda lost track myself. But being this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and would blow your head clean off, you gotta ask yourself one question: “Do I feel lucky?” Well, do ya punk?”
These memorable lines became a credo for Gumshoe who embarked upon his police career in the early 70’s. Gumshoe still has the VCR boxed set of Dirty Harry movies along with a VCR to play ‘em.
No, Gumshoe could not officially carry a .44 Magnum handgun. Police agencies across the board issued .38 caliber revolvers. Instead, Gumshoe would personally purchase a .357 S&W model 19 revolver, but Gumshoe could only officially use .38 caliber rounds. Somehow, a few speed loaders with .357 ammo found their way into Gumshoe’s dump pouch.
By the close of the ’70s, Gumshoe got employed as a lateral transfer to a “progressive” police agency that had transitioned from the “wheel” guns to semiautomatics. You see folks, crooks had already made this transition in firepower. Nothing like being behind the curve. Alleluia! More rounds to bear on target with quick magazine reloads.
Dirty Harry would have loved my S&W 645. Gumshoe referred to it as his personal field artillery piece.
In the decades to follow and after way too many officer-involved shootings, law enforcement agencies adopted the Glocks along with the long guns, AR-15s. Just maybe they finally realized that Inspector Harry Callahan was on to something?
Gumshoe knew that Dirty Harry was sort of an anti-hero-hero who functioned inside a politically correct police management culture. Some things never seem to change in some jurisdictions. Dirty Harry was not a rouge cop nor a street vigilante. He just got the job done. Police work is not pretty, it is ugly and violent. There is no second place in a firefight or a street fight don’t cha know?
This was summed up succinctly when Harry’s boss told him:
“You’re a dinosaur, Callahan, your ideas don’t fit today!”
Gumshoe took this line to be all too true when he “pulled the pin” (police talk of removing the badge and going into retirement) after four decades. Gumshoe realized that he reached his expiration date when the new hires did not know who in the heck Dirty Harry was. Their loss.
In closing kind readers always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Back the Blue and “Make their day!”
"You see folks that just as long as this prior Ruby Tuesday patron did not approach Gumshoe, he did not pose a threat to Gumshoe nor anyone else." ...
All of my kind readers will surely remember the old adage, “You can’t always judge a book by its cover”. So be it. Along that line of thought folks, you have often heard an opposing adage, “If it walks like a duck, acts like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck!”. So be it.
Well, guys, we coppers kind of think that both of these maxims are both correct at the same time. Puzzled? You must understand dear readers that we flatfoots and gumshoes develop a “gut instinct” during our crime fighting and detecting over the course of our law enforcement careers.
The commonly use term “criminal profiling” probably comes to mind. Somehow, this term seems unsettling and possibly racist. The “DWB” (driving while black) acronym has been used by black race-charlatans, liberal media pundits, and sophisticated Lilly-white urban elites just because they can get away with it. The end result is to further separate the community from their cops. This propaganda stokes the flames of mistrust that raised the insane cries to defund the police. Capital idea!
Gumshoe wonders just how is that movement working out for the minority communities of Oakland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, California; Detroit, Michigan; Chicago, Illinois; New York City, New York, Austin, Texas, etcetera. Morons all. One-way U-Haul trailers are getting out of Dodge! Pity the ones who are trapped.
Effective patrol cops definitely seek out known criminals and they quickly recognize the elements of criminal activity. That’s called police work folks. Citizens support is critical. Gumshoe says that you cannot police a community that doesn’t want to be policed. Police are not an army of occupation!
Okay guys, some “inside baseball wisdom” from Gumshoe. We all mostly drive cars to get ourselves to and from places. Crooks drive cars to do the same thing except it is from or to a crime scene. Hitchhiking and bus routes just don’t work for their nefarious activities. However, bicycles do work occasionally.
Crooks have a tendency not to obey traffic laws; have suspended or not have driver’s licenses but do have outstanding arrest warrants; are on probation; possess illegal drugs and/or weapons; or are under the influence of alcohol or illicit substances.
A good patrol cop constantly makes car stops within his or her assigned beats for the above-listed rationales. It’s called “owning your beat”.
Capesh? Comprende?
Gumshoe would conduct car stops on folks who met these standards. The driver would quickly play the race card: “You’re stopping because I’m black!” (Or brown or Mexican or female or —fill in the blank for the victim flavor of the day). Gumshoe would simply reply, “Yes!” Gumshoe would take a momentarily pregnant pause. This caused them to be downright shocked that this “Five-O” would readily agree with them.
Hey Bro! Ay Caramba!
Gumshoe would then follow up with the appropriate race-related or gender-related response:
“You’re the black guy who ran the stop sign.”
“You’re the Mexican who was speeding.” (Sometimes entirely in Gumshoe’s fractured Spanish if they didn’t speak American)
“You’re the female weaving all over the road.”
Once this streetwise formality was initiated, Gumshoe would take the appropriate positive police action that could constitute a warning, a citation, a field sobriety test, or result in a physical arrest. Period. End of story. The beat goes on.
Gumshoe also learned that some cops can develop a bad case of narrow vision or narrow-mindedness on their crime on the streets or working a detective caseload.
To wit: If you have a bunch of cops inside a briefing room and write the word “scoutmaster” on the chalkboard; some of them will automatically think “pedophile”. Gumshoe wonders why?
Until next time folks, always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Maybe just a few of the cops would define a scoutmaster as an adult male who unknowingly misleads naive youths (as well as themselves) to their untimely demises in the great outdoors.
Gumshoe early on in his LEO (law enforcement officer) career once heard a burned-out and somewhat jaded veteran street police officer proclaim in a deeply frustrated grumbled tone of voice :
Being a street police officer is like standing at the receiving end of a sewer pipe!
This crusty old salt made this sad soliloquy during a shift-change briefing prior to us patrol knuckle-draggers hitting the bricks to go to our assigned beats. Gumshoe just pondered this morale-killing claim momentarily and just brushed it off as this street monster having a bad day.
Possibly, this ROD (retired on duty) officer was simply embittered due to a recent citizen complaint that was sustained by IA (internal affairs) that resulted in some days off without pay? Bummer! Maybe he was passed over for an anticipated promotion or plum assignment? Maybe one of his ex-wives demanded an increase in alimony? Maybe he forgot his hemorrhoid cream?
Who knows? It might have been one of the too many “can of worms” 911 calls that he had to sort out in the past and he just knew by golly-gee that he was gonna be ultimately be dispatched to handle more of these dreaded “can of worms” radio calls again and then again . . . ad infinitum to ad nauseam!
Gumshoe learned it was (and still is) a truism that all police rookies (Gumshoe included) initially have a naïve and altruistic attitude when embarking upon their nascent crime-fighting careers. A bunch of “Dudley Do-rights” rescuing a bevy of beautiful “Nell’s” from a horde of “Snidely Whiplashes”.
This warm and fuzzy feel-good attitude is soon squashed unmercifully to smithereens by the hard reality of working the streets day and day out.
No one ever calls a cop for something good. Gumshoe used to tell his trainees that if they wanted to really be appreciated, become a “nozzle head”. Join the firefighter service. “Sleep until you’re hungry and eat until you’re tired. Rescue treed house cats and wax the shiny red fire trucks”.
Personal Note: This was just good old police humor since there is a friendly rivalry between cops and firefighters whom Gumshoe considers all heroes plus they are good cooks to boot!
Now back to a police officer’s plight. Boo hoo! Some of you kind readers may shout.
Some of you folks may exclaim:
“You were not drafted to be a cop. You signed up for it. You get to wear a badge and carry a gun and drive fast! You always seem to hang out in donut shops and then just write your quota of traffic tickets to us we-pay-your-salary- law-abiding citizens rather than go out and catch real bad guys. No pity party for you “Five-O.”
Sound familiar refrain gentle readers? Perception is a reality for most folks and it is true and even counts for cops don’t cha know?
Why do some people call 911 if the drive-through place gets their food order wrong? We don’t arrest Ronald McDonald nor grab Jack from his box.
Yes, some cops do become jaded and they experience career burnout; but that’s on them. “The would have’s, should have’s, and could have’s” exist in all walks of life and in all organizations. Best to stay away from their ilk.
Good cops (the majority mind you) don’t see themselves as standing on the receiving end of a sewer pipe, nor dealing exclusively in the effluent.
**It does happen and cops are definitely the clean-up crew that is ready and waiting. “Hook ‘em and book ‘em!” is the rallying call.
They honest to God want to make a difference and help folks. They want to serve and protect the vulnerable and hold the predators accountable. They know they make a small contribution every day by holding firm to that “thin blue line”. By pounding a beat or racing to the next 911 call.
All of the mother-sons and all of the mother-daughters who put on the blue are indeed the lights that shine in the darkness — “Et luxces in tenebris lucet”.
Always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Never fear Nell, Dudley Do-right will be there. Beware Snidely!
Gumshoe loves to speak with family and friends or even strangers when the opportunity presents itself. Back during Gumshoe’s LEO career, the audience would undoubtedly include victims, witnesses, and victims. Gumshoe knew that everyone has a story and that one can always learn something new, something interesting, and occasionally, something provocative. Different strokes for different […]
Every law enforcement officer has experienced their on-duty “Haceldana”. What is a “Haceldana” you may ask? It is an Ancient Greek term meaning “a field of blood”. The story attributed to the term, “Haceldana”, is the name of a potter’s field. This potter’s field was purchased with the thirty pieces of silver that Judas threw […]
In some way, dear readers, Gumshoe was always fascinated with Latin. It probably stems from young Gumshoe being a novice altar boy during his first year as a seminary student when the Catholic Mass was celebrated entirely in that ancient tongue. Gregorian Chants still give Gumshoe that surreal Heavenly feeling and they cause the demons […]
Gumshoe has in his past posts mentioned some incidents back when he worked as a uniform “blue suiter” while patrolling the mean streets of Santa Ana, California. Santa Ana was definitively a microcosm of East LA, Compton, East LA, and the Southside of Chicago all rolled into one rip-roaring place for street cops who wanted […]
"All of these resources can only offer guidelines for the guy or gal behind the badge with a firearm on their duty belt who sometimes are called upon to make the on-scene, split-second decisions." ...
Where does Gumshoe start? Just possibly, how did Gumshoe start is the better question, gentle readers. Just a pregnant pause perhaps to ponder . . . Birth order for sure played a large part when through serendipity, Gumshoe was the firstborn and the “Big Brother” to seven younger siblings (Mike, Deloris, Dennis, Paul, Nick, Rita, […]
"The ability to laugh stands as a vital protection of sanity and a mighty form of resistance to inhumanity." ...
Gumshoe has always been drawn to Latin. It probably originated with the beautiful sounds and harmonies of Gregorian Chants that echoed inside the chapel walls and it bounced inside the ears of young Gumshoe and planted itself firmly within his noggin.
Gumshoe at that time was an altar boy at St. Mark’s Seminary in Erie, Pennsylvania back in 1963. The Latin chants resonated within Gumshoe’s metaphysical being.
Nope! Gumshoe did not pursue the path to leading to the priesthood nor (due the grace of God) take the path leading to perdition. Please refer to “God’s Sense of Humor” by Gumshoe for background info dear readers.
Yes, Latin has been pronounced a “dead“ language although it is the basic foundation to the “Romance” languages of which the top five are Italian, Spanish, French, Portuguese and Romanian.
Pregnant pause: The top four listed languages do seem to be languages of love and romance.
BUT “Romanian”? In Gumshoe’s opinion, Romanian doesn’t sound the least bit romantic unless you are Romanian and have a fellow hairy Romanian mate. No offense, but Romanians appear pretty darn hairy to Gumshoe.
Partners Boris and Natasha’s conversations during “The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle” animated cartoon TV shows did not sound the least bit romantic. Of course they were Russian; and it was still during the Cold War folks. Their Russian accents could be confused with Romanian.
Bela Lugosi’s “Count Dracula” did not sound romantic either when he went for your neck. Yes, Mr. Lugosi was Hungarian and he probably preferred goulash rather than your esophagus. His Hungarian accent could be confused with mumbled Romanian as he munched away. Mmmmm! The the fictional “Count Dracula” was a confin-living-dead-denizen of the real Transylvania that is located Romania. Not exactly a popular honeymoon destination especially during full moons even with your garlic necklaces in tow.
Okay, enough about Romanian for now.
Come to think of it, Gumshoe was also drawn to Spanish when he heard the rapid-machine-gun- like delivery of the over excited Espanol-speaking sportscaster during a soccer match . . . GOOOAL!
Gumshoe would cordially invite readers to his past two posts dealing with his “Adventures in Espanol” and “More Adventures in Espanol” for further reference.
Now Gumshoe arrives back to Latin. The very first Latin phrase that the priest wrote on the seminary classroom black board was:
“Salve, assinous plenae cerversiae!” (Hello, jackass full of beer!)
This was definitely NOT a Gregorian Chant.
Until next time dear readers, always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
Gumshoe was initially gonna title this article “Jeremiad” simply because of today’s state of affairs here in the U.S. of A. However, my two late fellow writer friends . . . (Surely if Gumshoe had met them at “Dunkin Donuts” over a cup of hot Jo and a fresh crawler.)
. . . Russian Count, Lev (Lee) Nikolayevich Tolstoy and British writer, Clive Staples (C.R.) Lewis, who both changed Gumshoe’s mind.
Both of these distinguished writers in all probability never did meet over a pastry. Too bad, they shared similar perspectives.
To wit:
Leo Tolstoy once was sent out by his employer to report on a local animal slaughterhouse and describe the rendering process. Leo was undoubtedly affected by this “bloody” experience. He then later wrote this memorable line:
“We cannot pretend that we don’t know these things”.
Likewise, C.S. Lewis made his wizen statement:
“When the whole world is running towards a cliff, he who is running in the opposite direction appears to have lost his mind”.
Okay, now dear readers, Gumshoe challenges each of you good citizens to take a good hard “eyeball” look around our nation. Do it as you recall Tolstoy’s and Lewis’s quotes.
Scary truth!
Gumshoe firmly believes that Leo and Clive’s astute observations would be titled a “jeremiad” for today. They beat Gumshoe to it!
. . . Now back to that tasty bear claw.
Always remember to love the ones who love you, and really try to love the ones who don’t.
This “French-speak” title folks just means your reason or purpose for existence.Heavy, deep, and inquiring minds just wanna know. Man’s search for meaning in his life is Gumshoe’s take on this fancy French utterance. Now let’s have a glass of wine with the bread! Gumshoe will skip the escargot.
However, Gumshoe is not going on with this subjective narrative on a metaphysical basis. Gumshoe will leave that for your pastor, priest, rabbi, iman, or shaman to address that spiritual realm.
Gumshoe will confer with two of my favorite late mentors for just some plain old common “sense-ical“ thoughts.
The great American author and humorist, with his pen name, “Mark Twain“ (AKA Samuel Langhorne Clemens) gave Gumshoe the inspiration and desire to be a writer — Much to the unfortunate police supervisor who had to review Gumshoe’s witty written reports. Sacrebleu!
Secondly, the guy who made Gumshoe leave the Peace & Freedom Party and become a conservative Republican, the late President, Ronald Wilson Reagan. Gumshoe swore an oath as a California State Police Officer, to without hesitation, take a bullet for when he was the Governor. (Not so much for Nancy by the way)
NOTE: Please refer to the BizCatalyst articles, titled, “Ronnie Made Me Republican” and “The Care and Watering of Nancy’s Garden” by yours truly for more info about the Reagans.
Gumshoe’s friend Samuel is quoted to have pontificated:
The two most important days of your life are the day that you were born and the day you find out why.
Pithy as well as poignant to be sure for folks who desire to actually “mark” their personal “twains”.
President RR made this quote when he frequented the USMC Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina:
Some people spend a lifetime wondering if they made a difference in this world. But the Marines don’t have that problem.
Gumshoe ardently believes that both Sam and Ronnie would readily agree that all of us military veterans as well as all of us in law enforcement (active or retired) know why we were born and that we all made a difference in this fallen world.
God bless us all!
Well, that’s Gumshoe’s perspective from this side of life dear folks. Always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Gumshoe can to this very day dear readers, instantly bring to mind one of the most bizarre and somewhat terrifying (to the recipients) occurrences while executing a narcotics search warrant.
No shots were fired and there were no Hollywood-type explosions either. But there was a soundtrack. The scenario played out in front of Gumshoe’s unbelieving eyes as he peered out of the eyeholes of his black nylon balaclava that concealed his face.
You see folks this was back in the mid-80s during a Santa Ana PD early morning “narcotic search warrant” wake-up call so to speak.
Us “narcs” were comprised of a six-man detective unit team with a detective sergeant boss. Our unit worked exclusively on street narcotic sales involving hand-to-hand undercover buys and busts.
Individual unit narcs would make a minimum of three undercover buys from dealers in order to establish sufficient probable cause to obtain a search warrant at the location where the illicit narcotics were purchased.
In this particular case, Gumshoe had made the requisite three buys consisting of 8-balls (1/8th of an ounce) of brown heroin from the suspects at the targeted location. These suspects had dealt the drug deals from behind a heavy-duty wrought iron reinforced front door. The dwelling had three stories with a rooftop rear balcony.
Okay, now gentle readers some “inside baseball” info. Since we street narcs worked day-to-day in making street buys mostly inside the beautiful “golden city” (its motto by the way) of Santa Ana, California, we did not want to reveal our pretty bearded faces when serving search warrants. You must understand folks that once the dopers could ID you as an undercover narc, your next buy in the neighborhood may be your last. Ergo—we all wore the black nylon balaclavas (ski-type masks) to avoid the future “I know you!” in the booming street drug trade since we worked the same turf.
Now back to “Bizarro World”. Just like a well-oiled machine, our “truck crew” would promptly back up to the front door; hook up a heavy-duty chain while we entry guys would stand clear adjacent to the fortified doper door. Gumshoe in this case (since it was his case) loudly shout in English and Spanish the “knock & notice” and within moments (after no interior response) these things simultaneously occurred:
. . .The narco truck would floor it and pull off the entire door frame. Crash!
. . .The outside perimeter narc crew would throw actual baseballs through closed windows located all around the house.
Crashes all around!
. . . Gumshoe & his fellow balaclava-clad narcs would make a dynamic entry while shouting “Policia”.
In this case, Gumshoe activated his micro-cassette player that was affixed to the outside of his police-labeled entry ballistic vest.
Gumshoe loved to play Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” while quickly clearing the rooms for suspects.
Ummm, there was one other non-issue item that Gumshoe always sported, a plastic Viking helmet with horns since it complimented the Wagner soundtrack. Dynamic to say the least folks.
Now if you recall dear readers, this Narc stash pad had three stories with a rear rooftop balcony. Within minutes of our forced entry, the two dopers beat feet to that balcony and jumped over the balcony railing and they attempted to hold on. This is when Gumshoe & his partners witnessed these yahoos letting go rather than facing our Viking horde. A caramba!
According to the pre-stationed fire department paramedics eye witness accounts; each of these gravity-defying mopes landed on top of one another after collapsing a rickety wooden grape-stake fence that enclosed a thick life-saving garden of assorted produce. One misanthrope suffered two broken legs and his fellow misanthrope incurred a broken back. Both survived to be later deported back to their south-of-the-border homeland. Gumshoe suspects that they both interrupt their siestas when they see a rampaging Viking.
Gumshoe did immediately look over the railing at these two crumpled failed Flying Wallenda-dual sprawled akimbo in the briar patch. Gumshoe shouted down to the attending paramedics:
“They refused to waive their rights!”
Gumshoe also saw his boss standing below just shaking his head in disbelief.
Well, folks that’s the gospel. The truth is always stranger than a fiction tale from yesteryear.
Always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: I seized about one kilo of brown heroin (broken up into 8-balls; about $4500 in cash (mostly 20s that also contained some of my previously recorded “buy money”) and two loaded 9mm semiautomatic pistols. Ah caramba!
Gumshoe in his nascent police career developed some very good tried and true techniques while “suiting up” in the station’s locker room. One of Gumshoe’s personal protocols was to take a very deep breath, hold it, and then tighten the Velcro straps on his bullet “resistant” vests.
Civilian note: There is no such animal as a “Bullet-Proof Vest”. Large caliber rifle rounds can penetrate a vest or with their explosive impact, they will cause severe internal trauma. End of story, lights out to eternity. Amen!
The reason that Gumshoe would perform this “deep breath Velcro” ritual was to allow Gumshoe’s lungs to adequately expand and take in oxygen during the high probability of instant physical exertion. Believe it folks, ****happens!
Too tight of a ballistic vest would prevent the sufficient ability to breathe during a foot pursuit; a knock-down drag-out fight as well as other 911 high-stress police adventures.
A too-tight vest would also prevent Gumshoe from taking survival breaths that produce a collective calm during adrenaline-fed challenges.
Now some of you folks may be “a wondering” what in the heck does Velcro has anything to do with tolerance? Gumshoe will set you straight by quoting two notable distinguished figures.
Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky . . .” Tolerance will reach such a level that smart people will be forbidden to think so as not to offend idiots”.
And . . .
Catholic Archbishop Charles Chaput . . . “Evil preaches tolerance until it is dominant, then it seeks to silence good”.
Look around dear readers and you will readily see the clear and present dangers of unfettered tolerance at our doorsteps.
Situational awareness! That’s what Comrade Fyodor and Rev. Charles were talking about.
Gumshoe fervently believes that everyday “salt of the earth” Americans have had their own collective Velcro straps pulled way too tight by leftist, Marxist hands.
God-fearing, Bible-believing, family-loving, law-abiding patriotic Americans need to “breathe free” against these so-called “tolerant” restraints that must be loosened.
Gumshoe says that anyone should never be so “open-minded tolerant” that their brains fall out!
Gumshoe prays that true American values will prevail just as long we still recognize that we are one nation under God.
Well, that’s Gumshoe diatribe for now gentle readers. Always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
Prepubescent Gumshoe had a morning habit of reading cereal boxes while happily munching down on a variety of dry (just add milk) breakfast fare from Cheerios, Rice Crispies, Corn Flakes, Coco Puffs, Fruit Loops, etc.
These cereals were occasional treats for us young Pitocco tribe.
However, the bright orange box of “Wheaties” of wholegrain flakes that featured a picture of a star athlete with the memorable byline, “Breakfast of Champions” caught the young and skinny-scrawny Gumshoe’s imagination.
It was just like when Gumshoe would study the old “Charles Atlas” back cover comic book page ad that depicted a muscle-bound beach bully kicking sand in the face of a skinny weakling.
This ad would encourage many a male adolescent to become basement weightlifters to bulk up as a beach army of powerful Charles Atlases who would deter those nasty sand-kicking goons. Girls would swoon!
Hmmm? Become a champion by eating “Wheaties” and lifting some weights in order to kick sand into the beach bully face . . . sign Gumshoe up!
Well, folks, Gumshoe’s large family (oldest of eight siblings) and small grocery budget did not include “Wheaties” for morning daily eats. Mostly thick oatmeal or lumpy Cream of Wheat was the breakfast menu.
The cost of Charles Atlases’ comic book advertised plan for becoming an “Arnold Schwarzenegger“ was just beyond Gumshoe’s limited budget.
Gumshoe’s dreams were tucked neatly away for many growing-up years until he later heard the siren call of the Marine Corps that promised to build Gumshoe’s body, mind, and spirit . . . Uuuurah!
Seventeen-year-old Gumshoe signed up with his parent’s waiver.
That promise was kept by the Marines and Gumshoe knows that Charles Atlas would have been proud!
Well, that’s all for now gentle readers. Always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love those who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Gumshoe still eats his “Wheaties” but with non-fat milk.
Gumshoe wants to make one thing perfectly clear gentle readers, he is NOT an opera buff. However, it was four o’clock in the morning when an earworm awoke Gumshoe. ???
It was a funny song verse from “The Pirates of Penzance” playing on a repeating soundtrack loop between the synapses of Gumshoe’s brain cells: “When constabulary duties to be done, to be done, a policeman’s lot is not a happy one, happy one . . .”
This comic opera was written by Arthur Sullivan and William S. Gilbert and it premiered in New York City in December of 1879. Gumshoe was NOT there folks.
Gumshoe attributed this 0-dark thirty dream manifestation to Gumshoe‘s consumption of some very tasty and crispy left-over deep dish pepperoni pizza as the suspect catalyst culprit to this dreamscape soundtrack.
Okay then, begone and goodnight earworm!
Back to slumber for sleep-deprived Gumshoe as his personal earworm softly echoed, “ A policeman’s lot is not a happy one, not a happy one . . .” Zzzzzzzzz
Much later on that very same morning, Gumshoe’s earworm finally gave up the ghost but left its imprint on Gumshoe’s thoughts. Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Sullivan were right! A policeman’s (or a policewoman’s) lot is NOT a happy one.
In over four decades of police service, Gumshoe never responded to a radio call or was ever assigned to a case investigation that was a happy one.
Misanthropes abounded who committed evil and grievous deeds to be sure. Heart-rendering and soul-killing guaranteed for the uninitiated and naive young police recruit.
Picking up the pieces (sometimes literally) of victims’ bodies and dealing with their families’ shattered lives. The innocent as well as the most vulnerable were always the targets by the street predators.
That “Thin blue line” between predator and prey is REAL folks.
Grizzled veteran coppers would instruct us newbie rookies that if you wanted to be loved, become a “nozzle head” (fireman). NOT a street cop!
They were right just like Gilbert & Sullivan, a policeman’s lot is NOT and never will be a happy one.
However dear readers, real up-close and personal street cop work was never advertised to be fun and games. Police work beckoned in the past as it does today to still make that clarion call to exceptional guys and gals (who are truly altruistic) to “protect and serve”.
It’s like that Marine Corps recruiting call that summoned young Gumshoe: “The few, the proud, and the brave”. God bless the blue and keep’em all!
That’s the gospel for now folks. Always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love those who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Gumshoe loves “Phantom of the Opera”.
Gumshoe never had the opportunity to greet and meet that very deep thinker, Mr. Descartes. He coined the above-listed title Latin phrase that translates to American-speak:
I think, therefore I am.
Gumshoe wonders about just how long it took for Mr. “D” to come up with that profound pithy uttering? Possibly he had his Oprah “Eureka Moment” during his hot yoga class?
Gumshoe also pictures in his mind’s eye if Mr. “D” (sans his toga-like apparel) possibly struck “The Thinker” pose while sitting on a large rock.
Note: Please see Monsieur Auguste Rodin’s sculpture for reference.
Possibly, the hard surface on Mr. D’s posterior caused Mr. D’s mental contemplation to come full circle before “Preparation H” was required on his butt’s physical exertion? “Ouch! That’s one Rubicon he did not want to cross.
Gumshoe also ponders if Mr. “D” had partaken in an unknown quantity of cups of wine that probably killed some of his ancient brain cells but loosened his philosophical Latin tongue?
You must understand dear readers that all street cops come into direct contact with multiple Descartes impersonators on a daily basis whom make mind-puzzling and profound declarations.
To wit:
“I watch TV cop shows officer and I know the law!”
“You can’t arrest me because you don’t have enough PC (probable cause)!”
“You can’t search me (or my car or my house) without a warrant!”
“Why did you stop me and I don’t have to show you any ID!”
“Why don’t you go after real criminals!”
“I’m not drunk Officer, I only had two drinks!”
“I don’t have to do anything you say!”
“The stuff (narcotics, contraband, firearms, evidence) you found is not mine officer!”
“Don’t you know officer who I am?” or “I know your chief!”
“You can’t touch me, officer!”
“I am not going to jail!”
“If you didn’t have that badge, I’ll kick your a!”
Gumshoe’s personal favorite, “I pay your salary officer!”
Please note gentle readers that these “brain-dead Descartes-like individuals always amused Gumshoe.
They never really did think and therefore the handcuffs “clicked-closed” on their “Am I really going to jail?” Therefore, they did!
In closing gentle readers, always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
Latin for “Always the Truth” seems to old Gumshoe that that phrase is a pretty good creed for leaders (as well as for ourselves) to practice folks. Of course, it may depend on the time, place, and circumstance.
The much-quoted Sir Winston Churchill made (during the preplanning of “Operation Overlord” for the June 6th, 1944 cross-channel D-Day invasion of Nazi-held Normandy) the following comment:
In wartime, the truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
It seems that wise Winston meant that the truth had to be concealed by subterfuge, false-flag ops as well as downright deceptive-skullduggery methods to keep the Nazis guessing and standing on their goose-stepping tippy-toes. “Achtung mein Fuhrer!”
It was for the good under these wartime circumstances when free world survival was not guaranteed. This makes pretty good sense to Gumshoe since D-Day was successful and it was (thank God) NOT compromised. Allies won, Alleluia!
If the truth about the invasion had been compromised, Gumshoe is pretty darn sure that we all would now be speaking German as well as we would be shouting “Sieg Heil!” during our endless (mindless) lock-step marching in torchlight parades. The truth was effectively concealed by a number of methods that would be considered a bodyguard of lies and misdirections for Adolf.
Thankfully, Gumshoe never would have ever acquired a taste for wiener schnitzel or even sauerkraut; although Gumshoe loves those giant warm salty pretzels. “Gut und lecker!”
Now Gumshoe supposes that you fine folks may ask why this history lesson? It’s simply that we MUST be able to trust our leaders to keep bonafide secrets “SECRET” that are vital and necessary for our national security and good. Sadly, Gumshoe knows that our current leaders have already been compromised by our professed enemies and they have compromised themselves for their own selfish pursuits of wealth and power or idiot fantasies. They definitely have lost Gumshoe’s trust. Their combined body of lies is an attempt to conceal the truth from us about their total moral bankruptcy and their toxic corruption. Their interests hold sway over our national welfare and possibly our future national survival.
Think about the lies concerning lockdowns, the origin of Covid-19, masks, social distancing, school and business closures, mandatory vaccines (an oxymoron for gene testing), open borders, self-reliant fossil fuel energy is bad, horrendous fentanyl deaths, China is our friend . . .truth be damned!
In cop work, Gumshoe would warn all of his assigned police trainees:
I can and will teach you how to be a good cop and how to survive on the streets. However, I cannot teach you personal integrity; you either have it or you don’t! Once you lose it, you are finished being a cop.
Some of these trainees did not take heed and were dismissed before they could do harm. Good riddance to them for the greater good and for citizens’ welfare.
Too bad Gumshoe could not have had some field training time with some of our leaders so that they would have heard that admonishment. We all would have been better off without the ones lacking integrity. The truth would have been preserved by the honorable and selfless leaders whom we would trust.
Winston would also have been proud as he would have undoubtedly displayed his signature two-finger victory sign.
That’s all for now from Gumshoe kind folks. Remember to always love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: President Ronald Reagan once said: “If we ever forget that we are ONE nation under God, then we will be a nation GONE UNDER”.
It’s not too late to pray for our nation and for good leaders. Hope springs eternal for that city on a hill don’t cha know.
Gumshoe is angry! Some of you folks may have heard this adage:
“Once a Marine, always a Marine!”
This mantra rings true to all of us former “Jarheads”. This saying was drilled into our brain housing groups (skulls) via our not-so-pleasant D.I.’s at Parris Island or at the San Diego Marine Recruit Depots. There is no such animal as an “X-Marine”!
We “leathernecks” joined the ranks of the “green machine” out of patriotism and also in order individually to test ourselves as our right of passage—body, mind, and spirit to earn that “buzzard, beach ball, and fish hook“. (The nickname for the USMC emblem depicting the eagle, globe, and anchor). We all wanted to do the right and honorable thing in protecting our great country even if it meant sacrificing our young lives. Urrah! “Goodnight Chesty, wherever you are!” (Look up famed Marine Corps General “Chesty” Puller for further reference).
Now back to Gumshoe’s righteous wrath. All of you gentle readers know that after Gumshoe finished his four-year hitch in the Corps, he spent four decades plus in law enforcement including some time as a Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) Special Agent in Los Angeles, California. Gumshoe came up close and personal with the drug cartels and their extreme violence.
Gumshoe played a small part in the investigation of the kidnapping, torturing, and killing of DEA Special Agent Enrique “Kiki” Camarena down in Mexico in February of 1985. He was also a former Marine. God bless his soul.
There is no shadow of doubt inside of Gumshoe’s brain housing group that Mexico is a “Narco State” run by the competing drug cartels who own the Mexican government as well as the law enforcement leadership. Period! The cartels have a saying when corrupting officials:
“Plato o Plomo?”
This means: silver or lead? Take the bribe or take the bullet. Sadly, the majority of the officials take the silver in lieu of the bullet. What else is new you may ask? Drug and human trafficking. This is common knowledge among us “gringos” north of the border.
Recently, four innocent and possibly naive Americans crossed over the border and into a free-fire zone between rival cartel gunmen (sicarios). The cartels continually fight over the control of the U.S. and Mexican border. Two Americans were murdered outright and the other two were kidnapped. The dead Americans had their bodies dragged and dumped inside the bed of a pickup truck and the other two surviving Americans were also thrown into the truck bed by the killers. All four Americans were deposited into a guarded shack for over 24 hours. Two of the survivors were finally located and repatriated to the U.S.
- Where is the justice for our murdered and kidnapped fellow Americans?
Our State Department is presently negotiating with Mexican officials just to get the bodies back of the murdered victims.
- Why the delay?
- Why aren’t these well-known notorious and ruthless Mexican drug cartels not identified by the U.S. as terrorist organizations?
- Why are these “murder-incorporated” organizations allowed to exist and function at our southern border?
These cartels are definitely a “clear and present danger” to our country. Good must confront and destroy evil when it especially exists at our doorstep.
- Where is the determined will to act?
Gumshoe says that ACTION is needed covertly as well as overtly NOW by the U.S.
- Why is our government afraid to act?
These four Americans could have been any of us, our family members, or our friends.
Gumshoe thinks that the late American journalist, Henry Louis Menchen had it right (in this case) when he wrote:
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats”.
Gumshoe says, THAT TIME IS NOW! Damn the cartels and the corrupted Mexican authorities. Damn our “do nothing” government officials.
Well, that’s how Gumshoe feels about this matter kind folks.
Coram Deo!
PS: When Gumshoe worked as an undercover street Narc, the common phrase inside the drug and gang-infested barrio was:
“Vida es barrato”.
(Life is cheap). How commonplace and accepted was this pitiful saying by the victimized residents? The Devil laughed with delight!
It was another balmy Southern California summer graveyard night shift in the city of Orange. The only oranges to be seen were the two bright ones portrayed on the corresponding embroidered shoulder patches sewed on Gumshoe’s uniform short sleeve shirt. Additional oranges were pictured on the plastic “official city seals” that were affixed on both sides of the front doors of Gumshoe’s police car, a white Chevy Nova. In Gumshoe’s opinion, the large orange city seal logos on the outside doors of the painted white patrol car seemed to be a good target for a cop-killing sniper to “sight-in” and easily take out an unsuspecting “Officer Friendly”.
Gumshoe never felt comfortable nor ever at complete ease being positioned behind a bright orange target.
You have to understand folks that all of the orange groves that “once were“ along with the packing houses that created “the Valencia’s, the Mandarins, the Seville’s“ had long since been swallowed up whole by the encroaching adobe-colored stucco housing tracts with the obligatory shopping centers within the ever-expanding city limits Orange known to us coppers as the “Big O”.
While cruising the sleepy neighborhoods and commercial areas, Gumshoe had ample time to think of cascading thoughts about almost everything under the sun. In case it was under the moon. Gumshoe contemplating the riddles of the universe kept Gumshoe awake and alert especially when there were no radio calls. Sort of a Gumshoe’s personal time of reverie and reflection to pass the time journey on a slow, quiet night.
Hmm, Gumshoe would think: “Maybe a bit too quiet ke-mo sah-bee” as Tonto would remark to the Long Ranger. But of course, city police work in the wee hours never remains calm. Gumshoe always had that expectation and that feeling of anticipation that things would break his mental reverie.
On this particular evening, Gumshoe motored along the old side of the city that had narrow streets running through an eclectic blend of light industrial workshops and circa 1940 single-family housing. Gumshoe had all four windows of his cruiser down to take in the night air.
It was several blocks ahead of Gumshoe’s front hood when the sight of a “darked-out” (no lights on) racing vehicle came into view followed almost simultaneously by the sounds of angry metal being smashed with a visible shower of sparks flying upwards like a thousand fireflies illuminating the night’s darkness.
Deadly silence followed.
Gumshoe activated his overhead light bar and turned on his front-facing dual spotlights as he put out a “901T” (car crash) radio call at the hundred block on the street of this on-view incident.
Within less than a minute, Gumshoe was there. A late model mid-size car had been driven blindly into the rear end of a parked heavy-duty flatbed delivery truck.
There were no visible signs on the pavement of impending crash skid marks that would indicate any attempt of the driver braking. The car’s hood had jammed below the flatbed platform and the truck’s flatbed had neatly sheared off the upper portion of the car’s windshield and its roof beyond the side front middle door frames.
The strong acrid smell of burnt rubber assaulted Gumshoe’s nostrils mixed with the sweet aroma of leaking gasoline on the asphalt. No fire! Thank God!
Gumshoe readily spied the male driver and the female front passenger. They were both calmly and silently still seated upright. Their eyes were open with unblinking stares into nothingness. Gumshoe could then detect the odor of alcohol.
They were both absolutely and positively DEAD.
Strangely, there was no blood or gore.
Both of their skulls, just up from their eyebrows, were missing. Their skull caps were lying behind them on the back seats as if they were going to put them back on later.
Gumshoe’s cell light shone directly into the exposed portions of their heads. Gumshoe immediately thought of plastic doll heads, but in this case, these heads still had intact brains with no more thoughts to be thought.
Gumshoe pondered the unanswered question:
“What had they been thinking?” So much for Gumshoe’s quiet reverie on that graveyard shift in the “Big O”.
Always remember folks to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
Gumshoe has always been fascinated with the wooden Russian “Matryoshka Nesting Dolls”. They come in different sizes and in various colors and with distinct details. The original doll conceals another smaller doll that contains another smaller doll, and so on until the parade of decreasing size dolls concludes with the tiniest doll finally revealed.
Gumshoe realizes that this may not seem to amaze most folks, however, Gumshoe had a past law enforcement experience to think about the “Matryoshka Doll” during his self-imposed solitary confinement.
Okay, folks, it is not what you may think. Gumshoe was not doing any “hard time” in the “joint” with the “screws” watching him. It was not a “Shawshank Redemption”.
Working major narcotic cases involves many hours, days, and weeks of just plain stationary surveillance. B o r i n g ! Mind-numbing to the uninitiated narcotics detective who had fevered fantasy dreams of “Sonny Crockett and Rico Tubbs” courtesy of the fast-paced “Miami Vice” TV show of the late ’80s.
Where was Gumshoe? Once upon a time, Gumshoe was a DEA guy in Los Angeles. Officially, a bonafide Special Agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency, US Department of Justice. What a mouthful! Whoopi-do! In street cop parlance, DEA really meant, “Don’t Expect Anything” or “Drunk Every Afternoon”.
In this regard, when Gumshoe left the DEA and got back into real city police work, he soon found himself assigned to an inter-agency police drug task force that focused on mid-level to higher-level drug trafficking organizations known today as cartels. Sometimes having too much experience and training can put one in a position that one may not readily want. In Gumshoe’s case, it put Gumshoe into the “submarine” as the sole crew member. Ahoy!
Gumshoe was considered a professional drug trafficking profiler as well as a court-recognized expert. It was a hardy “Welcome aboard Gumshoe, avast me hardy!” from the bosses.
The “submarine” was a nondescript undercover surveillance van. It got its moniker by being outfitted with a roof-vent periscope with a 360-degree turnabout that could accommodate a 35mm camera. The “submarine” also had an array of secret squirrel equipment that Gumshoe will not describe in any detail since it would be outdated by now. It did blend in and it was never “made” by the dopers and their bottom-feeding scum lookouts.
Okay, Gumshoe was blessed (or some may say cursed) with the ability to run silent and deep for an extended period of time to just observe and record. Ho hum!
Gumshoe, once secreted inside the submarine (that was driven into a targeted location; parked, and then locked up and exited by another undercover detective) would spend the following hours on end, observing, documenting, and recording details that would describe the distinct profile of illicit drug trafficking at the target.
Drug couriers, delivery vehicles as well as “mopes” working shifts within the targeted location would ultimately be identified.
Outside area surveillance teams were readily available to tail targets of opportunity that would result in the further identification of other targeted locations for drugs and/or money.
Working the case from the outside was a challenge for Gumshoe when undercover cops or controlled informants were not able to get inside the target.
How many hours in surveillance you may ask? Routinely, from sunrise to midnight and beyond. This surveillance would continue daily until there were sufficient articulated facts to establish probable cause to support a search warrant.
Gumshoe would go through several cans of albacore tuna, crackers, Butterfinger bars (sugar rush with a touch of caffeinated chocolate), and about a half dozen of bottle waters that did double-duty if you know what Gumshoe means.
Gumshoe had plenty of time to think. This is when Gumshoe thought of the wooden Russian Matryoshka Dolls. The outside of the submarine hid Gumshoe while Gumshoe appeared as an undercover repairman (who badly needed a shave, a haircut, and a shower) who concealed a narcotics detective “on the job” playing official “peekaboo” with drug-trafficking-dirt-bags.
A doll concealed within a doll within another doll as a regular guy who is a concealed Narc who was concealed within a surveillance police van that was not “Joe Plumbing & Electrical” as advertised from the outside. Wonders never cease.
Well, folks, that’s Gumshoe’s tale from yesteryear. Remember to always love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Sonny & Rico were cool with a great music soundtrack and had amazing wheels. No tuna for those guys!
Gumshoe in his never-ending readings stumbled across the above term “sitra achra” (???). Gumshoe learned that this term was Hebrew for “the other side”. Hmmm? The other side of what you may ask? Inquiring minds want to know. Gumshoe too!
Further digging by Gumshoe discovered that this term refers to the spiritual realm of evil—the domain of Satan commonly known as Hell. Yikes! Not a location on Gumshoe’s bucket list to visit. Sort of like the real “Hotel California”. Cancel my reservation and please keep my deposit! Gumshoe would rather suffer the pains of an eternity of going through Disneyland’s “It’s A Small World” ride.
“Sitra Achra” can be also understood as an emanation, i.e., an abstract but perceptible thing that issues or originates from a source. In this particular instance, EVIL. Now that got those tiny little hairs on the back of Gumshoe’s neck to tingle.
The late comedian, Flip Wilson, used to retort, “The Devil made me do it!” Flip was not far from the truth folks. The Devil plays his behind-the-scenes part, but folks definitely take the active part in the evil-doing of their own volition.
The legal terms of “malice aforethought” as well as “implied intent” comes readily to Gumshoe’s mind from past criminal law case investigations.
But of course dear readers (or fellow life sojourners) our lives are not lived in this emanation of the abstract but lived in a variety of existential circumstances of which we were born. Nincompoop thinking may venture that nature or nurture was the proximate causation for folks to commit evil. The Devil didn’t make them do it, they did it!
The rock was not a rational excuse for Cain for smashing his brother Abel’s skull. He committed the first documented murder and he lied about it.
None of us are victims of the circumstances we find ourselves in unless we choose that excuse. We all have choices. Making no choice is ultimately a choice.
Evil, however, no matter how you slice it, is never a valid choice. One’s moral compass has to be bent to consider evil an option.
Gumshoe knows that evil is real and it exists and thrives in our fallen world.
The 1930’s radio show had an opening line by the hero, “The Shadow”. He would make this haunting claim in his baritone theatrical voice:
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!”
Now that really made the back of Gumshoe’s young neck really tingle! The Gumshoe learned that “The Shadow” was spot on in his assessment of evil lurking inside the hearts of men. Just ask any present day or retired street cop for further validation.
Evil is a choice don’t cha know?
It has been said that the best trick that the Devil has played on us was convincing the world that he does not exist. Gumshoe remembers the secular song verse from “And When I Die” by Blood, Sweat & Tears:
“I can swear there ain’t no Heaven, but I pray there ain’t no Hell”.
Sort of an oxymoronic sentiment of hedging your bet. Gumshoe replies, “Who’s fooling who?” Satan‘s laughter echoes within the domain Sitra Achra.
The damned residents don’t share in his humor since they all freely chose to check into the real (and not abstract) Hotel California.
Well, folks, Gumshoe will continue to discover the abstract from within the real. Until next time, always remember to love the ones who love you, and even try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: On second thought, Gumshoe doesn’t want to spend his eternity inside Disneyland’s, “It’s a Small World” ride.
Gumshoe did some pondering on this quiet Sunday afternoon and he thought of folks who have made “understatements“ that ended up being “overstatements” due to vicissitude of fortune.
Gumshoe thinks of an occasion when he clearly made an off-hand, innocent, careless, and thoughtless understatement that quickly became overstated; e.g., “When is the baby due?” (The female recipient’s reply) “I’M NOT PREGNANT!
Code RED! DEFCON 3! Gumshoe, exit stage LEFT! No way to clean up on aisle 7.
You see dear readers, just how an understatement can result in evolving into an overstatement without malice aforethought.
Gumshoe, who loves American history, remembers an offhand or maybe a flippant understatement of bravado that due to a Confederate sharpshooter’s aim became an unintended overstatement. It was in May of 1864 during the American Civil War (some folks call it the War Between the States) during the battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse (Virginia). One 50-year-old Union Major General by the name of John Sedgwick (also known affectionately by the moniker, “Uncle John”, by his troops was commanding the battle. General “Uncle John” was afoot (meaning not on his general’s horse) and was viewing the active battle front. One of his staff officers cautioned the general that he just might be a wee bit too close to the action.
General “Uncle John” dismissively retorted:
“They could not hit an elephant from this dis . . .”
Simultaneously, a Confederate rifle ball struck below the general’s left eye and killed him instantly. “Uncle John” was gone. The general’s joking remark was punched lined by that Confederate sharpshooter who definitely had the last laugh. Sad but true in the perilous time of war.
Gumshoe opines that the time and place, along with the circumstances, will always determine our understatements to birth an “unintended understatement” that does not result in an “overstatement” with a BANG!
Well, that’s the end of Gumshoe’s ruminations for now dear readers. Always remember to love the ones who love you and even try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Goodnight General “Uncle John” wherever you are.
Hello, again dear readers. Gumshoe read about a plaque that is within the vestibule of a Catholic Church, “Our Lady of Mount Carmel”, that is in Bronx, New York. This is not news since numerous church entrances display a sundry array of plaques, posters, pictures, and bulletins.
Ahem, so what?
However, this particular plaque draws the reader’s attention to the church bells. The bells mark the passage of time. That is old news.
Okay, here is Gumshoe’s point of reference for reflection dear readers.
The one inscribed phrase that stuck out to Gumshoe from this plaque read: “. . . when time stops, eternity begins.” Gumshoe pondered this phrase and thought of the times in his LEO career when time indeed stopped and to Gumshoe it really seemed to be an eternity.
To wit:
Gumshoe wrestling down in the dirt and debris in the city of Santa Ana, California, a back alley with a dope-crazed suspect at 2:00 AM. The suspect was attempting to enter the bedroom window of a teenage female. You can readily guess his evil intent kind readers. The hysterical and startling blood-curdling screams from this young female not only alerted her parents but also Gumshoe as well.
Officer Gumshoe just happened to be in “the right place at the right time“ on “routine patrol” inside his assigned beat barrio on this dark and rainy night. Gumshoe immediately went out on foot from his police unit to track down the source and cause of the near-distant screams. Gumshoe put out an “unknown trouble call” on his portable radio and Gumshoe traipsed along the adjoining driveways and alleyways.
The cacophony of barking dogs alerted Gumshoe to the fleeing suspect’s direction of travel. The K9 GPS at its best! Gumshoe and the suspect had their physical ground encounter about two blocks away from the victim’s residence.
It was always a source of wonderment to Gumshoe about how much energy and strength can be generated and fueled by the “flight-fight-freeze“ syndrome. Think of the comic book hero “The Amazing Hulk”. In this instance, think of a meth-head 20-year-old gang banger on probation for nighttime residential burglaries.
Gumshoe was able to physically restrain and handcuff this want-a-be Hulk after a pretty good tussle on the rain-drenched alley gutter. The far-off sounds of the wailing sirens from the rapidly approaching police units from adjacent patrol beats racing to assist were music to Gumshoe’s ears. Gumshoe was still in the muck and the mud doing the chicken with this “creepazoid”. It seemed like an eternity when time stopped until the blue-clad cavalry arrived.
To wit:
Gumshoe’s first officer-involved shooting when time just momentarily stopped and seemed like an eternity.
To wit:
The time when Gumshoe first heard of one of his fellow officer’s death in the line of duty . . . time just seem to stop in Gumshoe’s disbelief, shock, horror, disgust, anger, and sorrow.
Gumshoe is sure that all of you kind readers have had instances in your lives when time just stopped and it seemed like an eternity. Hopefully, it was not similar to Gumshoe’s unforeseen and unfortunate encounters.
When Gumshoe thinks about his instances of perceptions of time being stopped; eternity was real until those church bells rang again. . . “For Whom the Bells Tolls” rings true!
Well, dear readers, that’s Gumshoes thoughts for now that you may ponder in your own time. Always love the ones who love you and try to even love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Yesterday by chance, Gumshoe read this painted sign displayed on the rear window of a passing car in traffic: “Tomorrow is just a promise”. Hmm? Some more thoughtful pondering for Gumshoe to be sure.
Gumshoe’s late mother, Rita Dolores was actually able to resurrect the dying. Gumshoe will explain this remarkable claim later on dear readers. She also prepared adolescent Gumshoe for his future twelve week stay at the USMC Recruit Depot at Parris Island, South Carolina. Uuuurah! Goodnight Chesty wherever you are! There was not any Marine Corps Drill Instructor on that sand flea infested island in which she could readily put to shame.
Note: Gumshoe will not repeat Rita Dolores’ choice of her very descriptive and motivational language. Gumshoe will leave it to you kind reader’s imagination.
Mom was very strong, resilient, never-say-die woman who asserted herself in all circumstances. She was my father Dominic Daniel’s right-hand partner for over sixty years plus. Mother Rita died exactly ten days after Dad Dominic passed away. She had several medical maladies but her death certificate should have listed “a broken heart” as the proximate cause of her passing.
Together my parents reared eight of us kids. Mom was definitely in charge and she kept all of us in line while my dad held down a full-time job as well as a time-consuming part time job. We were a tight-knit family group who learned responsibility and accountability for one another. Strength in numbers and in loyalty.
We all learned to “adapt and overcome” all through our formative years. We all contributed to the family‘s income by working summer and after school jobs. All of us siblings went on to become very successful in our own lives. We all graduated high school and the majority of us earned our graduate degrees. None of us smoked, used alcohol, or “experimented” with drugs.
Mom was not a cook (God bless her soul) but we never went to bed hungry.
Mom would invent dinner fares such as hot dogs boiled in pea soup; fried baloney sandwiches; scrambled eggs (rock solid omelets) with can ham chunks; and eat plenty of bread (filler) from the day old outlet. Powdered milk, surplus government cheese blocks and corn meal mush blocks, (courtesy of the food bank at the local volunteer fire department) along with other staples, supplemented our family table and diet. Gumshoe always has had an affinity to firefighters from that day since.
Note: Gumshoe actually loved Marine chow and C-rats once I became a Jarhead.
My parents made do regardless of the tight financial circumstances with mom as the Master Sergeant.
Mom was not the type to hug or cuddle, nor coddle. Tough love to be sure, but sincere. She would not kiss the boo boo’s. However, God help any one who would bad mouth or threaten any of her brood.
Now I did mention her ability to raise the dead. One summer afternoon my four brothers and I were running around the basement. I decided to chase them all up the basement stairs to the first floor. All four of them, Mike, Paul, Nick and Dennis made it to the top doorway. My brother Dennis, trailing behind the three, was almost within my grasp.
I was about to grab Dennis, at which time he managed to reach the upper opened door and slammed it directly into Gumshoe’s kisser. Wack! Smack! Owww! This resulted in Gumshoe falling backwards down the steps and then tumbling sideways over the staircase railing. Ahhhh!
Ahhhh! Gumshoe abruptly landed in a supine position onto the cold cement basement floor.
Plop!
Gumshoe felt both of his lungs immediately collapse and his life breath escaping out of his open gapping mouth. He let out the sound sorta like a leaking flat tire. Whoosh! Gumshoe knew that he was dying until . . . he heard (from his death rattle) the upper stairwell door open.
Sergeant Mom gave Gumshoe’s crumpled body a parting glance and in her ear piercing commanding voice shouted: “Get up! You’re Okay, time for supper!” Gumshoe immediately sprang to his wobbly feet and felt like Lazarus coming out of his tomb, but in this case rising up and climbing the basement steps. Alleluia! Gumshoe lived. Gumshoe heard his mom’s voice command reiterated, “Get up! Your okay!” throughout his four years in the Corps when the going got tough. Gumshoe also heard her voice command, “Get up! You’re Okay!” during his forty plus years in police work when things went to hell.
Gumshoe got up no matter what and he still hears her voice to this day. Her shouted command was always Gumshoe’s mantra and motivation.
Thanks mom, I love you but I don’t miss your cooking!
Until next time gentle readers, always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Get up and you’ll be okay when life knocks you down.
Gumshoe was thoroughly disgusted with the soft kiddie porn of the recent holiday gift ad campaign by the elite fashion magazine of Balenciaga. Sorta like a gift shop located just to the right of the main gate to Hell. Free statues of Baal!
These twisted folks used little girls as props in order to display objects (teddy bears in bondage harnesses, handcuffs) aimed at the perverse tastes and corrupt sexual fantasies of child predators that were staged among the gift assortments. Think of “Where’s Waldo” for sexual deviants.
Did Gumshoe mention the paper copy scattered on a messy desk within the ad of the 2008 Supreme Court decision in the U.S. vs Williams dealing with child pornography? How appropriate and not by accident. What message was that supposed to mean and to whom was the intended recipient?
It seemed to Gumshoe that this pictorial ad could be used by hardcore pedophiles as a “show and tell” grooming aid to ensnare innocent child victims. Damn them all!
Yes, there have been some after-the-fact apologies and mea culpa’s by the Baal worshippers at Balenciaga. Too little too late!
Who approved this ad content prior to its publishing? Implied intent from the get-go Gumshoe surmises. No excuse is possible—evil is evil no matter which way it is displayed.
Gumshoe worked for over five years as a Detective in a Sheriff’s Special Investigation Unit that focused on crimes against children. The majority of the five hundred-plus cases that Gumshoe worked on involved the sexual assaults of children by pedophiles. This was a soul-killing detail for the investigator as well as for the molested children victims. God help them! The depths of evil were never fully plumed by the never-ending cases that would shatter your heart by the incarnate evil perpetrated by the career child predators (beasts) against the most vulnerable child victims.
Now Gumshoe asks the society at large, “Where is the strong public outcry and a call for censor for Balenciaga?” Opprobrium where are you . . .? Crickets.
Remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Please include in your prayers the known as well as the unknown child victims of sexual and physical abuse.
"Evil is always a “personal choice”. The phrase, “The devil made me do it!” seems humorous at first as a lame excuse for anyone to absolve themselves of any mea culpas." ...
"The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane." ...
Any Gumshoe (Detective) who is candid, will readily tell you that “CIs” (confidential informants) AKA: “snitches” are very necessary and a valuable asset when it comes to solving cases; instigating investigations; developing case leads; providing intel of the latest news on the streets and the “who’s who in the zoo”. Intel makes a detective’s world […]
Once upon a time, when it was the best of times and the worst of times. Times that tried men’s souls. It was a dark and stormy night . . . wait a darn minute! Belay all of that. Gumshoe has regressed into a writer’s web of mangled hackneyed and weary-worded topic sentences that were […]
"The hardest thing is to explain the obvious to people who refuse to see it. ... The simplest solution is almost always the best." ...
Circus music along with clowns always made young Gumshoe experience feelings of anxiety deep within the pit of his belly. A definite queasiness to be sure. Yuk! Note: Don’t get Gumshoe started on his response to The Russian Saber Dance. Adolescent Gumshoe never knew why. Even to this present day, old Gumshoe’s belly still has […]
"A good cop always relies on his past experience, training, and “gut instinct” to catch the misanthropes." ...
"Where have the best and the brightest gone? A cry in the wilderness unanswered? Perhaps maybe in time to come, there is hope. A ton of darkness cannot snuff out the smallest candle." ...
"Be aware of your sixth sense for survival and act upon it as if your life depended upon it — it does!"
“What did you have for breakfast Danny?” That question was posed to me by Dr. Good as I lay supine or better yet splayed out flat upon my back on our family red cloth living room couch. I heard his voice before I regained consciousness from my “Never Neverland of the long goodnight”. Dr. Good […]
"Hard times create strong men. Strong men create good times. Good times create weak men. And weak men create hard times." ...
Gumshoe awakened at “0-dark thirty” last night with this old adage on his sleepy mind, “Yesterday’s tomorrow’s are today’s past”. Hmmm? Sort of an earworm echo that took root inside of Gumshoe’s brain housing group. No, my friends, Gumshoe had not been under the influence of any natural herb nor brewed hop nor of crushed […]
It was one of those sticky humid hot days during one of gumshoe’s teenage summers as I watched my father, Dominic Daniel Pitocco, pour freshly mixed cement within the wooden forms for his planned rear patio project at the Pitocco home. That was my father’s idea of his two-week annual vacation from being a highly […]
She lay there naked in the supine position. Her long naturally blond hair was still wet and curled down at her shoulders due to a recent shower, a bath, a quick dip into a pool? Maybe? She emitted a light pleasant floral scent that lingered in the air from a bath soap or from a […]
Hello, once again my gentle readers. This past Holy Week prior to Easter got good old Gumshoe thinking about life in general. Definitely, a time of personal reflection that stirred past memories of being the messenger of terrible tidings on one too many times to family members. A loved one is dead. It is often […]
Okay, gentle readers, you folks may collectively ask Gumshoe, “What’s with all of these cryptic phrases in this title? Secondly, do we need the use of the Rosetta Stone to decipher your chosen Sanskrit?” Gumshoe replies in plain English slang: “Nope”. These archaic phrases can be interpreted by Gumshoe’s personal translation to mean: One’s unqualified […]
Gumshoe was thoroughly disgusted with the abject ignorance (hopefully not willful) of the “Honorable” Ketanji Brown Jackson during her recent senate vetting for the US Supreme Court. Mind you gentle readers that she appears to Gumshoe to be a very polite, well-poised, highly educated, and intelligent as well a very accomplished woman. Hurray for her! […]
Gumshoe once read that the Devil does not have knees simply because he refused to kneel down before God. Obviously, this was a matter of damnable vainglory that lead to his fall from grace. He became the first resident and the Grand Poobah of Hell. So be it, amen! Now folks let’s turn from the […]
“Twice died, but buried only once,” this inscription translated from Latin to English is on the tomb of Duns Scotus, AKA, John Dun Scotus, 1265-1308. John was definitely Scottish as you gentle readers can readily tell by his name. He was a Catholic Franciscan Priest, a university professor, as well as a philosopher, and a […]
Darth Vader’s lightsaber was awfully bright. It illuminated the faces of the nearby storm troopers who were all crouched down in the darkness of the 0-dark thirty-night operation. All of the mother sons patiently waited with their building anxiety that was lightly sprinkled with some anticipation for good measure of what would come. Did Gumshoe […]
Gumshoe surmises that once he was fully “committed” (not assigned to a rubber-roomed fun house inside the looney tunes village type of committed mind you) to his chosen police gypsy career; Gumshoe somehow missed the proverbial forest for the trees. To put it more bluntly in police parlance, Gumshoe suffered “HUA” (Head-up Ass) syndrome. Undoubtedly […]
Now my gentle readers, some of you clear-thinking folks, may wonder to yourself, “What is a Professional Cultural Anthropologist?” Gumshoe’s short answer is, “I don’t know”. Gumshoe got dragged into it. Gumshoe made up the term, but Gumshoe became one, purely by chance. Sort of by the vicissitudes of fortune, unfortunately. Gumshoe had the best […]